The Rain and the Silence
by Fiery Disposition
Summary: Rain and silence are wonderful things. One seventeen year old boy stands in the middle of it all and decides on his future.


Title: The Rain and the Silence

Author: Fiery Disposition

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy I most certainly would not be sharing them with you people. So it's a good thing for you that I don't.

Rating: PG for mild cursing.

Warning: Slash implied. Deal with it. 

Summary: Rain and silence are wonderful things. One seventeen year old stands out in the middle of it all, deciding on his future.

A/N: This was just an idea that came to me so I decided to write. It is not linked to my epic, Together Forever. 

A storm was coming. He could smell it in the air. It was the smell of danger, excitement, and barely contained fury. He could feel it. It felt like trouble as the wind whipped through his hair. It felt like sex as it glided across his skin. It felt like an embrace as it enveloped him in its turbulent arms. He could see it in the heavy and foreboding black clouds overhead, and in the bent forms of the trees.

He had always loved a good storm. It didn't matter if the skies had been perfectly blue the day before, the sun shining, the breeze friendly. Mother Nature was now pissed and she was letting her awesome temper shine forth.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as the first few drops of rain began to fall. It was cold, wet, and felt absolutely wonderful. 

Inside, everyone else had long ago retired. He could picture them now, sitting in their common rooms, in front of the warm fires, wrapped in pajamas and bathrobes. No one except him would be outside, standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. He was alone, completely and utterly alone.

And he liked it that way. He wanted it to be this way. The expectations were beginning to choke him. Be the best. Keep company with the right people. Help the cause. Lead us. Did anyone ever stop and ask his opinion? Did anyone ever say, "What do you want to do?"

__

Hell no. He though bitterly. No one ever asked. It was just expected. Fucking _expected_ of him. From Slytherin, from Gryffindor, from Dumbledore, from Voldemort. 

The rain was picking up. The drizzle was becoming a steady rain. In the distance, he could here the thunder rumble. If his eyes were open he would probably be able to see the slight lighting of the sky that signified lightening. But his eyes were closed, his head was tilted up at the sky, and he was standing in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch getting soaked. The rain seemed to be slowly washing away the tension in his body. If he really focused, he could also imagine the expectations falling away with it.

Silence reigned.

He really didn't understand why people were so afraid of silence. They would chatter on non stop to avoid it. He loved the silence. The silence listened, unlike people. It didn't expect questions, answers, promises, or lies. It was there, almost like the storm to comfort and provide a safe embrace. He figured that combined, silence and Mother Nature were the best parents he had ever had.

The storm was getting closer. The thunder was louder, the lightening was obvious even from behind his closed eyelids, and the steady rain was now a down pour. _This is wonderful._ The storm made him feel so free. It was screaming his indignation for him, carrying out his violent desires, and soothing his tortured soul. This was his release, his catharsis of sorts. This kept him sane.

Then suddenly, he was no longer alone. He felt the presence long before it reached him. Even in the middle of this mother of a tempest, the person's aura still gave off his identity. Footsteps approached where he stood, until the person was standing right beside him. 

Silence. He smiled. This was the way it was with them. His lover understood, why he was here, what he needed, and what he didn't need. If anyone else had come out here, he would have snapped at them, and then left because the feeling in the air would have been contaminated somehow by their intrusion.

But not him. He only added to the already charged air with his own personal intensity. They didn't touch, not yet, the time wasn't right. Later, in the night, they could turn to each other for comfort, passion, or love. But for now, they just stood there with identical stances and reveled in the storm.

He was the first one to break their silence, even though he was the one that loved it most. Without moving he asked, "What did Dumbledore say?"

His companion lowered his head and looked at his black haired lover. "He said it was up to you."

Harry gave a quick snort. "Bullshit. It never has been up to me. Ever. That's not about to change now."

The blonde's lips quirked but he didn't say anything. He just waited.

Harry looked up at the sky for a while before saying, "You would have thought that Dumbledore would have been smart enough to ask me to lead his army, before I graduated."

Draco just hummed an agreement.

"Now he doesn't have any leverage at all. I am a fully qualified wizard. I can do as I damn well please with or without his consent."

"So when are we leaving."

"Tomorrow."

"I'll have Severus prepare the portkey."

"Front hall at four o'clock. Give him my thanks."

Draco nodded once before turning around and heading off to the dungeons.

Harry watched him leave. His lips quirked. _It's funny how he is both my storm and my silence._ Tomorrow morning, the mother of all storms was going to break loose, and it would not be silent for a long time. Harry was almost sorry he was going to miss it.

Almost.


End file.
